


The adventures of Sammy and his only slightly less murdery brother! (Part One)

by millygal



Series: Only Slightly Murdery [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demon Dean Winchester, Feelings Having Demon Dean (Not too many lol), M/M, Strong Sassy Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 15:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12038547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: The shame Sam feels is only outweighed by the fear he'll lose everything.





	The adventures of Sammy and his only slightly less murdery brother! (Part One)

**Author's Note:**

> Twisted Bro-Romance Sam/Demon!Dean feels, plus some serious Demon!Dean moments of utter bastardness. Sam having to take on certain personality traits in order to keep a check on said Demon Brother!
> 
> This one is all toratio's fault (THANK YOU BB!) for posting a drabble for spn_bigpretzel's DEW and we were discussing the whole, D!D and Sammy in the Bunker just carrying on as normal, as normal as can be, lol. She said, and I quote - I would love to see the adventures of Sammy and his slightly murdery demon brother! - Challenge accepted, my friend, challenge accepted ;) It totally didn't end up the way it was meant to, and I never intended on a sequel, however, the fic and a few of you needed/demanded it ;D <3 Also, sorry in advance! Thank you ever so much miss jj1564 and fufaraw for their beta skills. You are AWESOME ladies! Also to stir_of_echoes and sasha_dragon for their read throughs!

Lying together, arms and legs tangled in sweat and come spattered sheets, gasping for breath and both completely unable to vocalise what it is they’re feeling, Sam and Dean are _almost_ content to live in the moment; to eke out the minutes, refusing to allow reality to sneak in and ruin a perfectly good orgasmic afterglow.

The only problem with living in the moment is that neither of the Winchesters wants to be the first to pull away, but both are fully aware that _this_ cannot last, not really.

Despite the fact that Sam’s body is a welcome weight wedged atop Dean’s rising and falling chest - a chest that in theory doesn’t really need to be rising or falling - a weight that seems to sooth the rage and ridiculousness of his Demon’s insanity, this creature who used to be a man knows that his brother will eventually have to follow through on his plans to bring him back to life.

Back to a world saturated in guilt and pain and green eyes that swim with regret and self loathing every time he looks in the mirror.

Sam can hear the emptiness in Dean’s cavernous chest; where once beat a heart that felt like it had a brick tied to it, there is nothing. No _thumpthumpthump_ , no hitch or stutter in the rhythm. The silence is both deafening and terrifying, and it’s a stark reminder that this _thing_ doesn’t belong here.

No matter how much Sam might _want_ Dean, he’s not willing to trade his brother’s **life** for a chance to continue their fucked up relationship.

The solution to Dean’s muddied soul sits locked behind a heavy oak door, not one hundred feet away, and the thought that Sam is purposely prolonging this creature’s existence for the rough and tumble of a few stolen caresses - that’s more shameful than anything else Sam’s ever done in the pursuit of keeping Dean by his side.

Dean _blinks_ first; makes a show of yawning, stretching and wriggling from beneath Sam’s dead weight. “Oi, you utter giraffe, shift it, would you? You weigh a fucktonne.”

Sam’s both grateful for, and saddened by, Dean’s unspoken gesture of goodwill, but he looks down into his brother’s eyes and knows with every fibre of his being, every aching nerve ending, that the Demon _understands_ and is trying to make it easier on him.

Sam’s silence is so loud it hurts Dean’s ears and when he can no longer take it, he reaches up and cups his brother’s cheek. “It’s okay, I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”

Where there was a single tear clinging to Dean’s lashes, now there’s a steady stream of salt and dampness snaking it’s way down Sam’s chin, and he wants to pull away, hide his face, not allow this creature any foot hold in his heart.

Sam ducks his head Dean drops a chaste, if somewhat brutal, kiss into his brother’s hair and cradles Sam’s tear streaked face in the crook of his neck. “I turn Demon and you _still_ insist on Chick-Flick moments? You’re hopeless.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam _could_ have pretended that Dean didn’t **know** all about his plans to banish the Demon back to where it came from, but the sting in the Mark that’s trying to crawl into Dean’s blackened soul is refusing to allow either man the respite of repressed feelings or ignored intentions.

Dean’s also not scratching, clawing or raging against the injustice of it all because, well, because the look on Sam’s face is too heart breaking for him to ignore. Yes, Dean may not have a fully functioning heart, but it still ceases to beat for Sam alone and the Demon can’t stand the pain he can feel radiating out across the room as Sam struggles with his decision to bring his brother home.

Dean sits, surrounded by a circle of salt, which he’s _staring down_ like it’s going to jump up and bite him; legs straight out in front of him with rope tightly wound around his ankles, arms bound together, head bowed, lips pursed.

His lips are pursed because he’s on the verge of begging Sam not to do this thing, but the pain in his brother’s eyes makes him realise that no amount of interesting nail marks or knee buckling orgasms is worth the self loathing Sam’s suffering through.

Dean would rather step off a cliff than be the reason his brother can’t look him in the eye.

Dead, demonised, soul demolished, morals shot to shit, and still Dean wants nothing but Sam’s happiness.

If it weren’t for the fact that he’s about to become very much alive and is probably going to be preoccupied with a world of guilt and self flagellation, Dean would be writing a strongly worded letter to Crowley for allowing him to come back as a defective Demon.

Or, perhaps this is how all Demons feel, they just don’t tell the good guys about it.

Shaking his head and making a show of clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Dean affects a nonchalant sneer. “Come on Sammy-boy, we gettin’ this show on the road, or what?”

Sam’s grateful for Dean’s lack of argument. He’s grateful for a lot of things in this moment, but that sneer, that _Devil May Care_ attitude, it’s the only thing forcing his fingers to keep grinding the herbs into the bowl in front of him. “Shut up and let me focus, would you? Unless you want to come back with a goat’s soul?”

Dean chuckles at Sam’s lame attempt to deflect attention away from his shaking hands and hitching voice, but doesn’t call him on it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blackness drains from Dean’s eyes and Sam holds his breath, holds it like he’s drowning and can’t tell surface and sunlight from sand and seabed.

Dean’s body goes into violent convulsions and he howls, howls louder than any wild animal ever has, or possibly ever will again.

It’s only as Dean’s arms and legs stop straining to break free of the ropes binding them that Sam realises he’s succeeded in returning the one thing in the world that means the most to him, and he may be about to lose that thing because he couldn’t stop himself bedding down with a Demon.

“Dean - Dean? Y-y-ou in there?”

And once again Sam can see a single solitary tear, glistening in the dim light from the bare bulb swinging above their heads, clinging defiantly to eyelashes that refuse to lift and show the green beneath them.

Outwardly Dean is still as death and silent as the grave, inwardly he continues to howl, to cleave the the slowly ebbing darkness that gave such relief from the light.

Dean’s so quiet Sam worries he’s fucked up the spell, turned his brother into a vegetable, or a mute.

Sam’s about to start shaking Dean by the shoulders when he lifts his head, blinks twice, allowing the tear still stubbornly clinging to his eyelashes to fall in one fat droplet, landing on the back of his still bound hand.

“Sa-Sa-Sammy?”

The relief Sam feels is only outweighed by the fear, creeping in around the edges of his consciousness. Stepping forward, Sam reaches out to untie Dean when the next words out of his mouth force Sam to stop dead in his tracks and make his skin want to crawl from his bones.

“Don’t touch me.”

 

 

Fin - for now.


End file.
